I open the door to see Mark sitting at the table, blowing on a spoon full
of soup. He looks at me and gives me his half smile. His 'I-don't-know-what-
you-think-about-me-right-now-but-I'm-still-your-best-friend' smile. I take
a deep breath and make my way over to the table. I sit across from him and
grab a napkin to fidget with.
"Mark." I look at the white paper in my hands, folding and tearing and mutilating it, then back at him, into those hopeful, frightened eyes that have been on the foreground of my mind for the last hour or so.
"Roger." His smile increases a little, then he looks down as well, suddenly fascinated with the color of his chicken noodle.
"Honestly Mark, I don't know what to say." I continue speaking, staring at my mangled napkin the entire time. I can't look at him. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to look at him because it will stop me from saying what I know I have to say next. "I've been thinking, and...I can't do this Mark. I can't do this to you, I can't do it to myself, and I can't do it to us. I just...can't do it." I begin to get emotional, and Mark can sense it, like he always does. He scoots to the chair next to me and puts a hand on my arm, supporting me when by his face I can tell he's the one who could use it.
"What, Roger? What can't you do?" His voice is soft and his eyes are tearing.
Yet another thing I can't do adds itself to the list. I can't make him cry.
"Any of this...I can't stay here with you knowing the way you feel about me..." I see his face fall and he swallows the lump I know has formed in his throat. His tears are about to fall and I take the hand on my arm into my own. "Mark...I can't stay here...knowing I feel the same way."
He looks at me like I have two heads and I have to resist the urge to laugh.
"I...what?" He's confused, almost as much as me. I wasn't planning on telling him that, I didn't even think it was true, until I saw him sitting there, comforting me, while his own eyes tingled with the threat of bitter tears he would do almost anything to hide.
"I feel the same way Mark, but there's no way. It's just not possible, and I don't think I could stay here knowing that, and knowing how we both feel. I'm sorry." My apology is weak, and so am I. He's my best friend. The one person who has ever cared about me, made me feel like I mattered. And here I am, lying to him and to myself, running away like always.
He squeezes my hand and clears his throat. "Roger, believe me, I've spent more time than I should have thinking about this. It is possible...if you...really do feel the way you say you do, then what's the problem?" He looks so hopeful, optimistic even.
"It's not! Mark do you realize what we'd be getting ourselves into? I have a girlfriend. I have AIDS. I have some inescapable dysfunction that hurts everyone I care about. Ever. You know me Mark! You know nothing works for me."
"I know exactly what we'd be getting ourselves into. I've wanted to get myself into it for a long time. Mimi would understand. If she loves you the way...the way I do, she'd only want you to be happy. How do you think I've dealt with this for four years? And...AIDS...I don't care Roger. I love you, and I love every part of you. That disease is just...it's a part of you, and I'm willing to deal with it just like all your other bad qualities." He smiles, and I playfully hit his arm.
"Hey! What bad qualities? I'm an angel!" I smile innocently and this time he hits me, laughing.
"Yea...sure." He shakes the joke off, and continues trying to convince me we're worth it. "Nothing works for you? You're smart, you're talented, you've got great friends..." he smiles again. "You're..." he blushes and looks away. "Good looking. Roger, I would give anything to have things 'not work' for me as much as they 'don't work' for you. It could work Roger, you just have to give it a chance, give me a chance."
I just watch him. I'm listening to him as well, and I'm comprehending everything he says, but mostly I'm just watching him. His eyes get darker when he's passionate. He talks faster, and his hands move a lot. He has one small vein on the right side of his forehead that strains and pops out a little when he's making a point. How can I refuse him? How can I turn away from something so honest, so real, so...beautiful? His face is pleading. 'give me a chance' echoes in my head accompanied by those clear, strong brown eyes.
"Mark...I...I want to give you a chance, believe me I do...and I will. I promise I won't fuck this up...not this time. Just, give me some time? Let me talk to Mimi? Let everything settle?"
He looks up at me, and smiles. He's always been able to understand everything I'm trying to say with my less-than-brilliant dialogue. He nods slowly and squeezes my hand again. "I'm proud of you Roger." I look down and probably blush, but for the first time in a long while...I'm proud of myself.
"Mark." I look at the white paper in my hands, folding and tearing and mutilating it, then back at him, into those hopeful, frightened eyes that have been on the foreground of my mind for the last hour or so.
"Roger." His smile increases a little, then he looks down as well, suddenly fascinated with the color of his chicken noodle.
"Honestly Mark, I don't know what to say." I continue speaking, staring at my mangled napkin the entire time. I can't look at him. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to look at him because it will stop me from saying what I know I have to say next. "I've been thinking, and...I can't do this Mark. I can't do this to you, I can't do it to myself, and I can't do it to us. I just...can't do it." I begin to get emotional, and Mark can sense it, like he always does. He scoots to the chair next to me and puts a hand on my arm, supporting me when by his face I can tell he's the one who could use it.
"What, Roger? What can't you do?" His voice is soft and his eyes are tearing.
Yet another thing I can't do adds itself to the list. I can't make him cry.
"Any of this...I can't stay here with you knowing the way you feel about me..." I see his face fall and he swallows the lump I know has formed in his throat. His tears are about to fall and I take the hand on my arm into my own. "Mark...I can't stay here...knowing I feel the same way."
He looks at me like I have two heads and I have to resist the urge to laugh.
"I...what?" He's confused, almost as much as me. I wasn't planning on telling him that, I didn't even think it was true, until I saw him sitting there, comforting me, while his own eyes tingled with the threat of bitter tears he would do almost anything to hide.
"I feel the same way Mark, but there's no way. It's just not possible, and I don't think I could stay here knowing that, and knowing how we both feel. I'm sorry." My apology is weak, and so am I. He's my best friend. The one person who has ever cared about me, made me feel like I mattered. And here I am, lying to him and to myself, running away like always.
He squeezes my hand and clears his throat. "Roger, believe me, I've spent more time than I should have thinking about this. It is possible...if you...really do feel the way you say you do, then what's the problem?" He looks so hopeful, optimistic even.
"It's not! Mark do you realize what we'd be getting ourselves into? I have a girlfriend. I have AIDS. I have some inescapable dysfunction that hurts everyone I care about. Ever. You know me Mark! You know nothing works for me."
"I know exactly what we'd be getting ourselves into. I've wanted to get myself into it for a long time. Mimi would understand. If she loves you the way...the way I do, she'd only want you to be happy. How do you think I've dealt with this for four years? And...AIDS...I don't care Roger. I love you, and I love every part of you. That disease is just...it's a part of you, and I'm willing to deal with it just like all your other bad qualities." He smiles, and I playfully hit his arm.
"Hey! What bad qualities? I'm an angel!" I smile innocently and this time he hits me, laughing.
"Yea...sure." He shakes the joke off, and continues trying to convince me we're worth it. "Nothing works for you? You're smart, you're talented, you've got great friends..." he smiles again. "You're..." he blushes and looks away. "Good looking. Roger, I would give anything to have things 'not work' for me as much as they 'don't work' for you. It could work Roger, you just have to give it a chance, give me a chance."
I just watch him. I'm listening to him as well, and I'm comprehending everything he says, but mostly I'm just watching him. His eyes get darker when he's passionate. He talks faster, and his hands move a lot. He has one small vein on the right side of his forehead that strains and pops out a little when he's making a point. How can I refuse him? How can I turn away from something so honest, so real, so...beautiful? His face is pleading. 'give me a chance' echoes in my head accompanied by those clear, strong brown eyes.
"Mark...I...I want to give you a chance, believe me I do...and I will. I promise I won't fuck this up...not this time. Just, give me some time? Let me talk to Mimi? Let everything settle?"
He looks up at me, and smiles. He's always been able to understand everything I'm trying to say with my less-than-brilliant dialogue. He nods slowly and squeezes my hand again. "I'm proud of you Roger." I look down and probably blush, but for the first time in a long while...I'm proud of myself.
